Ten Questions
by waywardshepherd
Summary: Responses to a series of 10 prompts synthesized from the classic list of 20 character-development questions. (Written in-character, except the first one.) Featuring Rake, a 50-year-old elf sharpshooter/face-man with a law degree and a checkered past. Standard disclaimer: Shadowrun ain't mine, Rake is.
1. Chapter 1 - General History

**1. When and where were you born? What was your birth name? Who were your parents and what did they do? Did you have any siblings? Do you have any surviving family? Where are they now?**

Aiden Harrison was born to middle-class Federated Boeing employee human parents (Dustin and Juliette) in suburban Seattle in 2024. More than the typical "oops" baby, Aiden was an extra surprise: an elf when both his older brother Sean and sister Neema were born human. Fortunately, his parents and siblings chose to accept his strangeness as just another part of the increasingly strange Sixth World. Aiden's father and brother were avid hunters, but Aiden's allergy to meat dissuaded him from hunting. In spite of this, they taught young Aiden to shoot, and he further developed his skills at the firing range while they hunted. Even as a young child, Aiden possessed a full-sized personality; he was outgoing, made friends easily, and was able to talk his way out of trouble.

The intervening decades saw Aiden's life take more than its share of unexpected turns (more on that later), ultimately leading to estrangement from his family. His parents have likely passed away by 2074, but his siblings could still be alive, likely as wageslaves in the Seattle region. Despite Rake looking much the same as he did when they last saw him, his siblings would have difficulty equating their little brother Aiden to the shadowrunner who spent the last 15 years of life working the criminal underworld.


	2. Chapter 2 - Historical Events

**2. Choose an event from the Sixth World's history and describe how it affected you personally.**

History, you say? Who's moderating this node anyways? Where's a sysop when you need one, right? Kidding. Mostly.

Since most of of the rest of you were not even alive for some of the really big stuff that's happened, I'll dig up something from your collective prehistory and tell you chummers what it was like to actually live through it. Sit back and let old man Rake tell you all about the first Crash-with-a-capital-C...

Scan this, omae: there was a time when the Matrix was not yet a thing. Crazy, but true. When I was a child, we had this global computer network they called the "Internet". There's a lame old joke about it being a "series of tubes" or something like that, but that drek is even older than me. Anyways, it was like a dumbed-down proto-Matrix. Simsense was still in its infancy, and AR was around, but not at all pervasive. Seriously, people actually typed on keyboards (or used voice-transcription software) and used a tool called a "mouse" or some kind of touchpad interface while looking at a display screen. I even remember playing with my older brother's IntelliPad device when I was a kiddo. Super-Mad Bird-Bombs was fragging amazing when you're four years old.

But I'm digressing. The whole point of this story is how something significant impacted me. The significant thing would be the Crash of '29, or Crash 1.0 - the first time everything went dark, computer-wise. The Crash Virus was like nothing anyone had ever seen before, and it brought the global information economy to its knees. I remember being worried that it could infect people, but I was just a kid and didn't know the difference. Plus, that kind of tech was still a few decades off. Still, life was pretty scary for a while. Money ran short, people got hungry, riots broke out, all the usual post-disaster stuff, but this was a technology-induced disaster with no obvious solution, since the crash virus defied all attempts to defeat it with existing methods and tech. On top of that, it was global and impacted all but the most remote tribal communities.

The old United States government got involved and set their super-hacker team Echo Mirage to the task of fixing things and eliminating the virus, developing prototype simsense-driven cyberterminals and paving the way for the Matrix yet to come. A couple of years later, things were back on track and the world was being transformed by the new Matrix when the last of the old Crash Virus was destroyed.

My life would have been unimaginably different if the Crash of '29 never happened. Something Matrix-like would have eventually developed, but Crash 1.0 jumpstarted all that. It opened up a whole new realm of information and connectivity, allowing for a paradigm shift in how the world did business. For those of us who remember it, the era of Crash 1.0 was transformative, and I know for a fact my outlook remains colored by it. Sure, we've survived another Crash and a host of other major upheavals since, but I'm never going to take something even as ubiquitous as the wireless Matrix for granted.

The experience of living through Crash 1.0 and its aftermath made me into the sort of person who likes to have options, and that kind of thinking is probably the main reason I went to college, did my turn in the UCAS Army, and took a tour through law school before I ever got around to seeking a corp job and making plans to settle down. (Plus, I have the time to spare - 45 years after the first Crash, and I'm still in my prime!) Even after a past personal tragedy, my subsequent break from the lucrative corporate cradle, and a long indentured servitude to my creditors, I'm reluctant to fetter myself with a life that depends on too many "certainties". My experiences tell me such things aren't really that certain at all. As a result, I have a habit exploring the alternatives available, developing contingencies, and assessing points of failure - something that's proven valuable in the shadows, but a burden not typically felt by the average wageslave.

But that's enough for now, you crazy kids. The old man in me is saying "get off my lawn!" and "go to bed!". I'm inclined to agree. I've got blueprints and security protocols for the next job to review plus my usual 3 hours of sleep to get before I go meet Mr. Johnson at his sunrise tai chi class. Don't ask me why that's the time and place chosen for the meet. And yes, I will stop by the Stuffer Shack on the way back and grab the soysauge sandwiches everybody always want for breakfast, but you lazy slots better be up by then; there's paydata to steal!

-Rake


	3. Chapter 3 - Jobs

**3. Describe a job you'd be willing to take on for free, and one you wouldn't touch for any amount of money. These could be purely hypothetical, or genuine opportunities that you either accepted or turned down in the recent past.**

Whoa there, chummer! This is getting all of sudden several kinds of personal. I think maybe you're skimming info for some Johnson to see if they can get old man Rake to work for peanuts.

Truthfully, though, I guess they are some jobs even I wouldn't take and there are other jobs that even I would do for non-financial motivations.

First up: the nevers, 'cause those are easy. Scan this: even the roughest, toughest, meanest ganger you ever come across will draw the line somewhere. Crazy is a different story, but rational self-interest has limits for most slots. Since I'm not the roughest, toughest anything, you can imagine there's a bit of a list of things I won't do, mostly the obvious ones:

1. Nothing about killing/capturing/hurting kids:

That's bad karma, and kids aren't aware enough or accountable enough to be dragged into the shadows. You want leverage on somebody, maybe a lover is fair game (emphasis on the maybe), but the truth of the matter is that money really motivates better. You get at somebody's livelihood, then you can bend them. Keep the families out of it, and we can all sleep a bit easier.

2. No slaving:

I got a problem with slavery and similar things, but I have direct personal experience with the nuanced distinction between that and indentured servitude. Even though my one-time "creditors" dabbled in the trade, the members I ran with dealt in lesser vices, so I wasn't ever put in a rock-or-hard-place type of position. So yeah, I don't think I'd ever knowingly take a job that resulted in someone being enslaved or otherwise "owned" in that sense.

3. Not so much a "never" as a notion about something to avoid:

Minimize "collateral damages", even if the job doesn't require you to. Keep your weapons pointed at your actual targets; don't go spraying lead like some thrill-ganger jacked up on beetles. I lost someone dear to me as a consequence of being an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire, so I won't tolerate my teammates acting in a way that endangers regular folks unnecessarily.

As for the freebies, well those are maybe more limited in scope:

1. Any job that reconciles a past failure of my own.

If you turned something into a drek-drenched omnishambles, then you've got to step up and make it right. This applies equally to the cases of "should have known better" and "been double-crossed".

2. Settling a score.

See the bit about double-crossing above. All debts should be paid, omae.

-Rake


	4. Chapter 4 - Favorites

**4. Describe a favorite possession in detail. It can be anything — a weapon, a commlink, a talisman, a keepsake, an article of clothing, a false identity, whatever. What's the story behind it? Why is it important to you? What makes it unique?**

'Runners and their toys: a topic sure to produce a series of posts that will make the reader simultaneously envious and frightened. It's weird mix to experience: salivating over somebody else's bleeding-edge wiz weapon/gear/ride/spell/etc. while also facing the prospect of being "outgunned" by it. Speaking of guns, some of you kiddos know that old man Rake is fond of his firearms. I won't deny it, but I would also like to to share more of my hard-earned perspective on all things firearms by discussing one of my favorite guns. Pay attention, chummers, you might even learn something!

First, let me produce it for you. [A video window opens, displaying a live feed of a man's hands through image-linked cybereyes. Seemingly out of nowhere, a matte-black non-metallic palm-sized hold-out pistol jumps into Rake's right hand.] Whoa, there, omae! No need to get twitchy; haven't you seen the workings of a hidden arm-slide before?

Yeah, that's right: I sent a wireless command via my implanted 'link to the slide, which popped the gun into my hand. I keep the slide strapped to my forearm, hidden under my shirt sleeve - there's also an extra magazine clipped on just behind the gun, since these little pistols don't carry many rounds. Slides like these are faster than a quickdraw holster and provide the added bonus of even easier concealment for your smaller guns.

Hoi chummer! What do you mean by "elf-gun"? You think this is small and non-threatening, huh? Small, yes. Non-threatening, not exactly. There aren't a lot of guns that pass through most active security measures undetected, yet still provide a good shooter with sufficiently deadly capability on the other side. Read on and educate yourself before you go loud-mouthing about the panacea quality of your favorite SMG. Don't know that fancy word? Look it up with your Fetch agent, kiddo, while I stare at the university degrees on my wall here.

Dictionary time over? Good. Ready to pay attention? Even better.

As I was saying, this particular gun started life over almost 20 years ago as a brand new Morrissey Élan. It was a gift to me by my late fiancee, who thought it was more appropriate for my (then) new role as a corp sarariman. Despite my military-indoctrinated preference back then for heavy pistols, I recognized the solid design of the Élan and (perhaps more importantly) the concealability and acceptability (in high class circles) of such a weapon.

Later, as my initial dips into the shadow community taught me a few things the hard way, I decided to work with my armorer buddy to tune up my trusty Élan. Non-metallic and highly concealable is a great starting point, but the metal in the bullets is easier to detect and the lack of a smartlink represents a missing edge that might get a chummer geeked, you scan me? Also, hold-out pistols are not designed with standard gun accessories in mind, so there's no off-the-shelf way to silence one. Hence the armorer buddy: we're headed into Weapon Mods 101 class here.

Keep that in mind as you take a closer look at my Élan. [Rake holds it up close on the video feed, dialing in a slight magnification through his cybereyes.] First up, the micro-camera aligned coaxial to the barrel is the most obvious clue to the internal smartlink modification we installed. Next, you'll note the slightly extended barrel with the wider end - that's the tell for a silencer modification. More expensive than a normal silencer accessory, but the only way to quiet your hold-out.

Now let's look back here at the grips, up close and personal through this magnified view. See that "fuzzy" surface on the grip? That's gecko coating, which means you'd have trouble prying this gun from my cold dead fingers; also useful for sticking the gun to anything, anywhere. Those strange contours in the surface? Those are essential to the custom-fitted personalized grip, a feature I like on all of my weapons. On guns, it helps with recoil, and it's not a bad upgrade for your favorite melee tool, either. One more thing that you can only see with a bit of magnification is this tiny interface here, which is one of several for the skinlink system. Installing a skinlink and setting your smartgun's default connection to it deters wireless hacks of your weapons.

Finally, let's zoom back out to look at the ammunition situation. [Video feed reverts to the unmagnified view as Rake reorients the weapon and ejects the clip.] You might notice that the clip is small, holding only 5 rounds, which is a common situation for a hold-out. Upgrading to an extended clip won't buy you much capacity at these small sizes, so it's better to just have a spare one full and ready on the back of your arm slide. Yes, those bullets are different than normal. Remember that part about making things hard to detect? These are Hi-C rounds, made of MAD-scanner-invisibledensiplast (slug and case). They lose power at long range, but that's a fair trade when you're in a hold-out situation. They also kick hard due to the higher propellant load, but the personalized grip helps control against that extra recoil.

Put all that together, and you have a small, yet still quite threatening package. Still don't think it's threatening? Imagine going to a "secure" meet, "knowing" that the other party (whom you intend to double-cross) will be left unarmed, only to be very surprised by the sudden appearance of a gun like my Élan here in close proximity to your unarmored face. Not feeling so null sheen anymore, omae? Didn't think so.

In the end, I guess this old Élan of mine is a sort of "favorite". Of course, I have a stable of customized guns for a variety of applications, and I still pack the latest Ares Predator (a stalwart heavy) as my primary pistol when more direct action is expected. Still, knowing that my Élan is always there as the ace up my sleeve is a small bit of assurance in world of rapidly-changing circumstances.

-Rake


	5. Chapter 5 - Name

**5. What's the story behind your street name? Did you choose it, or was it given to you? Why?**

What's in a name? That which we call a rose, omae. Best to leave that kind of poetics to the Bard, neh? No, that's not the name of some new crime boss. What are they not teaching you kiddos these days? Somebody remind me to buy the lot of you some knowsofts to round out your educations (or lack thereof). Don't they have Shakespearean-sculpted nodes somewhere in the Matrix? Frag me anyways.

But let's put all that drek aside for now and answer this week's burning question. If you're a halfway functional slot at all, you may have scanned that my street name doesn't come from my resemblance (in form or function) to the garden tool. Nor is it some secret elf title for an important magical gardening task. You can thank my ID guy Sneaky Pete for that half-baked notion. It's about the silliest conspiracy theory ever; but they'll say anything on those Matirx-casts he's always streaming.

As it turns out, my moniker was bestowed on me by some of my previous "professional" associates as a multi-layered pun. Thanks again, Ivan and Sergei: you slots are hi-fraggin'-larious. In all seriousness, though, it suits me fairly well, if you know your vocabulary. Allow me to drop a little knowledge of the less common applications of the word "rake" to help explain:

1. (verb) To gather together, specifically in the context of gambling winnings.

2. (verb) To search or examine thoroughly; ransack.

3. (verb) To aim heavy gunfire along the length of.

4. (noun) Abbreviated form of "rakehell", an ancient term for a carefree, witty, sexually irresistible aristocrat man prone to immoral conduct and heartless womanizing.

My comrades at the time decided that all four of these meanings applied to me, for reasons somewhat obvious to those who know me. The first one was a low-blow jab at my past gambling issues, which are mostly under control these days. Second, I'm known to be thorough in my approach to the biz. As for the last two definitions: I've been known to both shoot and sweet-talk my way out of jams, as the situation demanded. I have to admit, I do tend to have my way with the ladies; there was this one time with this ork gal named Felina...

[redacted/censored/eww-gross!]

Okay, Tryx, enough of that! Will you stop hacking my posts already? I get the hint: "old people sex is gross" and all that drek. Let's agree to disagree, and leave our juvie-selves at the door, so ka?

Anwyays, you add it all up, and you've got "Rake" - another poor slot about as mixed up as the rest of you chummers. I guess I'm still waiting for that wisdom they supposedly hand out with age. I'll be sure to let your descendants know if that package ever arrives at my doorstep, chummer, but I don't think I'll lay around waiting on it in the meantime, as there's work to be done and nuyen to be earned/stolen.

Now, for a more important question: which one of you n00bs forgot to bring your silencer?

-Rake


	6. Chapter 6 - Saturday

**6. It's a balmy, sunny Saturday in Seattle, and you have no appointments, plans, or prior commitments. What do you do for fun, day and night?**

A balmy, sunny Saturday in the Seattle sprawl? And it's not the result of massive ritual magic that will eventually make the volcanoes go BOOM (again)? Frag me, chummer - those are rare indeed. Let me take a moment to search through my old logs here to see if I can find on that fits that description. Why invent a fiction when I've already got facts to suit my needs, neh? There are mountains of tales in these old files, since I've been keeping journals ever since getting a 'link implanted. DNI makes it that much easier to record my thoughts and encryption gives me modicum of privacy.

Ok, found one. Also, it looks like they are not as rare as I thought, since this one happened within the last year. Trust me when I say it's a good one, omae. Here it is, in all its unedited glory [no redacting, Tryx!]:

"4-AUG-2073: Saturday

0500: Ding! And that's it for my 3 hours of regulated sleep. Weather should be uncommonly good today and no new messages on the 'link since I crashed at 0200, so I'm thinking a morning run is a good start. At least I'm not down Amazonia way, where today's total eclipse is going to make for some crazy magical drek. I would *not* want to be in the Azzie military on a day like today.

0600: Nice to exercise outside for a change; I'm usually stuck with calisthenics at home or running in the (acid) rain. Breakfast was nothing special, but the woman I chatted up at the soykaf cart by the park was. Didn't hurt that she's fellow UW alum - Go Huskies! Got those digits stored for later. If nothing comes up, I may see if Priya is available tonight.

0630: Got a message from Gunny that my "packages" are ready for pickup. I responded and asked him to book some range time for this afternoon so I can try the new stuff out when I go by to pick everything up later. Might as well bring a few other pieces for some extra practice while I'm there, so I guess it's time to clean guns and count ammo while I watch some trid.

0900: Done with guns for now, and Gunny confirmed that range time is secured for early afternoon. Watched some new episodes of Desert Wars and picked up an idea or two. Too bad they spend less time on squad-level tactics, but that wouldn't feature experimental heavy weapons with pretty explosions. Give the people what they want, I guess. At least I got to see that barrier foam drek in action; useful stuff. Makes me glad I let Gunny talk me into to buying a clip of splash grenades filled with it. Also: I was briefly tempted by a sudden alert from an old Matrix gambling node I used to frequent (and thought I had spam-blocked), but I was able to put that aside so I could call Priya and make plans for tonight.

1000: Priya is sounding more like fun every minute; she's all excited to go check out 'Supercrit', a restaurant/club downtown that came under new management and has reinvented itself. I know it had previously been a sushi bar/Yakuza front, according to some details Nikolai shared the last time we spoke. I'm not sure who runs it now, but the change in cuisine to molecular-gastro makes any connection to criminal syndicates way less obvious. Now, with 9 hours to burn, it's time to pack up and hit the road for Ft. Lewis territory. Also need to do a better job of solidifying my new fake ID; I almost tripped up talking to Priya. First name: Ford. Last name: Hutton. Occupation: wageslave, contracts negotiator at Northwestern Hydraulics. Get it right, soldier!

1100: On the road, but not without a hitch. Had to leave the bigger stuff behind when my cyberears picked up some mutterings from the old lady smoking on the balcony 3 floors above my parking spot. Something about the number of bags I was loading made her suspicious, so I am short my Desert Strike and Enfield. I'll be parking in a different location when I return. Fortunately, I'm picking up the Alpha from Gunny, so at least I'll be able to run it through its paces at the range. Got to remember to stop and get the old guy some lunch on the way; never hurts to come bearing gifts as well as payment.

1145: Looks like the nice weather got everybody in the sprawl out on the roads; it's slowed to a crawl, so I'm going to let the Pilot do the driving while I stream the latest EdgeLaw Matrix-cast. They're discussing some new case law on virtual property and the controversial idea of limited 'squatter's rights' for DI's that Pulsar has been promoting (with backing from Horizon, of course). Haven't had the chance to take on a DI as a 'client', but I'd rather be prepared in case I ever have to deal with one in any capacity. Rumor has it that there's a DI recently emerged in Boston with the personality and expertise of a Harvard law prof, and that 'she' plans to pursue professional licensing. Good luck to her, I suppose.

1600: Headed home, after a good afternoon with the Gunny out at the range. Glad I had enough spare nuyen after the last job to pay for the upgrades he's installed on my Alpha - any recoil reduction available should be taken for a weapon capable of full autofire. Of course, if the 'run is going correctly, laying down lead in full-auto mode is about the last plan to use, but when the drek hits the fan...

1700: Munching a nutrisoy snack while I clean up for my date and catch up on messages. Looks like MIlo dropped me a note about a 'decidedly non-urgent' job opportunity. I'm taking most everything he throws my way since I struck out as an independent, so I'll be sure to follow up with him soon. It's good to be free of my obligations to Nikolai's organization, but the steady flow of work form the Vory was a welcome certainty while it lasted. Speaking of my favorite Russian, Nikolai responded to my earlier request for info on this Supercrit place and said his sources were not 100% convinced that all interesting activities had been relocated since the changeover. Great, just what I need: a crypto-front for the Yakuza. I'm sure nothing will go sideways while we're there, but I'm going to change into my concealed SecureTech protectors and wear my Actioneer suit just in case. Think I'll pack my Élan, ceramic knife, and Flash-Pak as well. A trio of easily-concealed, yet highly effective tools.

1830: About to pick up Priya at her high-rise place downtown. Good thing my Rover SUV blends in this neighborhood. Thanks again for the sweet ride, dead guy who used to compete with my former 'employers'. Sorry about shooting your rigger first; who would have guessed you guys would swap seats?

2000: Pitstop. Priya is a lot of fun; I think tonight may end on a high note. Food was like some kind of mad science experiment, but good, and mostly the real stuff to boot. I think we're moving on to more drinks and dancing next. No sign of unsavory types yet, but there are some obviously wired Japanese sammy muscle guarding a door marked 'Manager - Private' at the darkened end of the long hallway past the restrooms. Only noticed because of my cybereyes, but I don't think I tipped my hand in the process.

2100: Somebody making a lot of noise in Cantonese over by the bar is about to cause to trouble with the Yakuza owners. I smell Triads and scores to settle. Time to make a hasty departure, hopefully back to Priya's. That fire exit I spotted earlier should do the trick...

2200: Priya's apartment; nice place without a view, but she's got the full AR treatment to spruce it up. At least it's secure, which is a welcome reprieve from the excitement that happened at Supercrit earlier. Priya is cleaning herself up and clearing her head while I fix us some more drinks. Things got a little dicey during our escape from that bad situation, since the Triads had thugs guarding the fire exits. Out of the three we faced, I dropped one with a quick shot from my Élan and caught two by surprise with the Flash-Pak, allowing us to make it safely to my ride in a neighboring parking garage. I'm out a Flash-Pak, but that's a small thing, considering our hoops are still intact. Priya was kind of in a shocked daze through the whole violent sequence, but that's how it goes for many civilians who get too close to the shadows. Fortunately for Priya, this sort of thing is all too familiar for me, so I've been able to calm her down and (hopefully) salvage the remainder of our evening.

0130: Just left Priya's place. Don't know if I'll call her again, since this night didn't go exactly as planned, but we did make a good connection and she is worth a second look. At least we had a great time finishing that bottle of wine and talking until she passed out; too much life-threatening excitement for one night. Thought I'd slip out quietly to spare her the awkward morning. Since I'm swimming in wine myself, the Rover's Pilot is driving me back to my place.

0200: Time to hit the rack. I'm still grinning about the last thing Priya said, a half-considered question while nearly asleep: 'What kind of lawyer are you, anyways?' Hah!"

And that ends it. Okay, chummer, you got me: not every Saturday turns out like that, but this one really did. In case you're interested, I did hang out with Priya a few more times. Fun was had, but I'm not really the commitment type anymore, so ka?

No, Bastion, I'm not giving you her digits. Because I don't think she's really that into the whole Dunkelzahn Lives! movement thing, big guy, that's why. You're right, that is her loss. Yeah, I did get the chance to cast my vote for Big D seventeen years ago. Remind me to tell you that story some other time...

-Rake


	7. Chapter 7 - Home

**7. Where do you live? Describe your neighborhood and your home, inside and out.**

Scan this, chummers: despite your expectations, the over-educated and occasionally verbose elf known to you as Rake is not living large in some high-end lady-killing bachelor pad. Bull-drek, you say? Some of the stuff I've shared, sure, maybe, but not this time, omae. I'm keeping my living arrangements simple for the moment, for several good reasons. They are still charging rent, you know... Whatever. Just kick back for now and allow old man Rake to tell you slots about the places he currently calls home.

First, the place I mostly live, my apartment in Tacoma. I'm in a low-rent tower complex with mostly wageslaves of the chipped-and-wired workforce. Factory workers, skilled laborers, warehouse grunts, docksiders - all those jobs they called "blue collar" last century. The good part about a place like that is that everybody is mostly happy to keep to themselves. The bad part is there aren't any residues of luxury and precious little to spare for comfort, either. My ride is a bit too slick for a place like that, so I rent a separate parking spot in the more secure garage across the street. To keep costs manageable, that leaves me with little in the way of options beyond a basic studio apartment.

As for the details of my one-room pad, there's nothing much to discuss. The plumbing is solid, the soymat and the autocook mostly work, the local node is good enough for me (plus, there's a better public one within signal range of my implanted 'link), and there's room enough for my futon and some storage racks. No, I don't see much point in a proper bed; it's not like I'd use it more than a few hours a day, and there's not much extra space to waste, so I don't, so ka? There's even a functional trid in the corner. I like to keep my gear in order, but that's probably not much of a surprise to anyone who's run the biz with me before. I have a good maglock on my gun cabinet, which is firmly bolted to the wall and floor.

Everything I'd care to take in a hurry would fit in my ride, with room to spare. Part of that comes from living life in the shadows, part of it comes from the fact that I don't consider this place in any way a permanent home, and another part of it is a holdover from my days in the UCAS Army where 3-hots-and-a-cot was all you got somedays. Any way you hack it, though, it's a relatively safe place to hang my proverbial hat. But it's not much for looks, so I tend to steer any female companions who show an interest back towards their pads at the end of the night. And that's all I'll say on that subject, since Tryx would purge anything more from this post later.

Finally, a brief word about another place where I pay "rent": I keep a safehouse over in the industrial slums of Auburn. It's completely bare-bones, a few linked units in an abandoned storage facility, but it's squarely within the turf of the Diamond Dogs gang. After setting things up with their leadership, I send them payment every month through their member Cholula, and they let me use the place whenever and however I like. They appreciate the courtesy call if I plan to do any shooting, and their presence provides me with cover and protection. As long as the Dogs keep their ambitions to their turf and beneath the attention of the Knight Errant hounds, then the safehouse should remain useful to my crew.

Now, if you slots don't mind, I'd like to get back to biz. We've still got plans to finish for this zoo meet that Milo set up with Tripwire. Look for another message from me with details on that.

-Rake


	8. Chapter 8 - Matrix Icon

**8. What do you look like in the Matrix?**

Icons, chummer: there's everything you can imagine and then some you wouldn't want to. *Do not* enter a bunraku-themed node unintentionally, or else become lost in a very uncanny valley. Not a familiar concept? Look it up, kiddo, and log back on when the uneasiness subsides.

I've never claimed to be a hacker, but I have used cold sim VR some in my checkered past. Hot sim once or twice, but it's really not my scene. Still, the abundance of AR in the wake of Crash 2.0 has made personal icon details relevant to even the non-hackers among us. Plus, in the shadows, where image and rep work like forms of currency, having an icon convey critical information by possessing the right "look" can be surprisingly important.

Perhaps it's no surprise that my icon has changed over the years as my life has taken its many turns. Given that, the best way to go about this might be as a brief history of icons I've used. First, there was the basic student model they issued us at UW when we enrolled. Upgrades were available, but I went with the bog-standard free model, since I was on ROTC scholarship with not a lot of wiggle room in the budget. Plus, the ROTC unit provided us with a uniform skin for the basic UW icon that we had to wear most of the time, anyways.

Next up was the Hooah model with rank/specialties/unit designator, standard-issue for all official business in the UCAS army. Mine started with the basic officer cadet designator, and was later upgraded to 2nd Lt, then Lt, and finally Captain for a year or so before I mustered out. Sure, the uniformity of these Army personas sounds kind of boring to all you flashy Matrix addicts, but there was a nice efficiency to nodes full of these things. You could look past the figure to the information on its designator: rank and all that was way more important. Plus, anyone not in your unit, much less the Army, stood out immediately for easy recognition. Hold on while I look around my headware memory a moment; I may have an image capture of my last Army icon somewhere.

[Rake attaches a short video file of a metahumanoid-shaped icon, subtly colored in a digital camo pattern, executing a sharp salute. The icon is prominently displaying the twin silver bars of a captain, along with Rake's old unit number, and various shapes representing specialties like marksman, logisitics, corporate liaison, etc.]

See what I'm talking about, omae? Efficient. Plus, that little salute maneuver it's doing? That made Matrix interactions with superiors null sheen, because your icon would automatically respond to a higher-ranking one with a crisp salute - made forgetting to do so in meat-space even more likely, though!

After an honorable discharge from the Army, my return to UW for law school meant another student icon, but the ones for the law school were way more professional, and mine had a badge for being an undergrad alum of the university. Again, I didn't see much need to upgrade beyond the basic model, but I had classmates who burned their cred trying to keep their icon trendy. Of course, the fact that I knew the recruiters at Ares had their eyes on me and my military corporate liaison experience meant that I just needed to make the grade and earn my JD to get a job. And with that eventual job came the full array of Ares-approved official corporate icons. They had a massive library of approved models - I let my fiancee at the time help me pick one, since she thought it was really important to have the right "look". I'd later learn how important that could be. But enough about that old life...

Since leaving the warm corporate embrace, I found myself marching through a series of mostly default icons as I frequently change my active commcode and periodically swap out entire fake IDs. Since earning a release from my contract with my previous employer, I paid for a slightly improved version of the basic chrome humanoid: this one wears a business suit and is tagged with a designator for ExAlt, LLC - the fake "consulting" company I set up as a means of covering up the shadow-y sources of my income. I like it for its combination of simple (just a chrome guy) and professional (wearing a suit and representing his firm).

-Rake


	9. Chapter 9 - SINs

**9. Do you have a SIN now? If so, what's your legal status? If not, did you ever have one, or were you born SINless? How do you feel about people on the opposite side of the line (SINner or SINless)? **

Before I ever became a SINner, I was just another slot with a Social Security Number (SSN), which is what they tagged you with upon birth as a citizen of the United States of America. Of course, Union Day happened when I was a kiddo, and they issued all of us UCAS citizens (the Canadians, too!) a shiny new SIN in 2036 when they finally got around to overhauling the nuts and bolts of the governing system. If I tried, I could probably even remember my old SSN, since my parents made me learn it by heart when I first entered elementary school.

But that's not the question the SysOp put before us, is it, chummer? I guess I sort of answered part of it: I have a SIN, by virtue of being a law-abiding 12-year-old citizen when they handed the things out for the first time. That SIN followed me through my years in college, the military, law school, and even during my brief stint at Ares Arms, when the corp "mirrored" my ID onto their database, which permanently linked my already established UCAS SIN to their internal records of me. Eventually, though, that life ended up behind me, and more than a decade of life in the shadows has taught me the value of possessing a fake ID and the benefits of changing it habitually. Speaking of which, if you need some ID work, I happen to know a guy...

As for how I feel about those on the other (SINless) side of life, I think they fall into two groups: victims of the system and those who actively seek to avoid it. Among the average sprawl dwellers, I'd say most SINless fall into the former category, due to a variety of circumstances, and mostly resulting from limited economic capability. Complementary to that, I suspect societies where the Awakened have powerful influence (like some parts of the NAN, Amazonia, Siberia, etc.) have many "citizens" who would not see the need for something like a SIN, nor would they particularly care to have one forced on them. Don't believe me? Try telling dragon you've provided it with some arbitrary metahuman-appropriate identifier while I'll call my street doc friend to see if she has any spare clone bodies for you, 'cause you're gonna need one, omae.

But my reaction to SINner or SINless is largely the same: you live your life, and I'll live mine, and hopefully we can each do that without having to make enemies of each other somewhere along the way.

-Rake


	10. Chapter 10 - Dreams

**10. What's the best dream you ever had? What was the worst? Where do those hopes and fears come from?**

Dreams, omae... That's a heavy one, and one that always brings to mind a truly ancient poem that's haunted me since I first read it for a course on the classics in my university days. It's properly an ode, by this ancient Greek slot named Pindar, and was written to celebrate the winner of some kind of wrestling championship. For a victory poem, I think it takes a particularly dark turn near the end in the passage:

"But the delight of mortals grows in a short time, and then it falls to the ground, shaken by an adverse thought. Creatures of a day. What is someone? What is no one? Man is the but the dream of shade. But when the brilliance given by Zeus comes, a shining light is on man, and a gentle lifetime."

Spooky, neh? Makes me want to reach for a stiff drink every time I read it, chummer. Looking back on the many years since college, hindsight tells me maybe that piece haunted me because it was like a foreshadowing of my life to come.

The twenty-year-old me would tell you that my best dreams were about the life yet to come: the prospect of a good career in the military and with a corp and the expectation of an affluent future with a partner of my choosing. (I do have a good track record with the ladies...) At that time, my worst dreams were about things like falling behind in school, losing my ROTC scholarship, or any one of the many things that could negatively impact my anticipated future success.

The fifty-year-old me can tell you that my worst dreams have already come to pass and that my best dreams have been reduced to the brief glimpses of imaginative fantasy allowed during the limited REM cycle enforced by implanted sleep regulator. First, the worst:

My fiancee Chloe was fatally shot right in front of me when we were bystanders to some kind of mysterious drive-by incident back in '57. During the immense grief that followed, my promising career at Ares spiraled downward and resulted in my termination. In the wake of that, I fell victim to my vices and lost myself in a haze of gambling, semi-legal "law" practice for clients from the shadows, and heartless womanizing. Mounting debts found me indentured to my friend Nikolai's "family business" and cost me a decade of my long elven life, working as an exclusive agent of the Vory. I became a ghost to my family, lost all friends except Nikolai from my previous life, and became the person you now know as Rake.

But it wasn't all bad, either: working for the Vory forced me to restore self-discipline and gave me purpose, enough that I can mostly keep myself together after being released from my "contract". Those dark years also taught me how bad things can truly become, so that I can find contentment now with the mundane. Taking on shadowruns with a crew I'm learning to know and trust can pay the bills well enough and provides me with people I can be responsible for and to - both things that motivate me to keep my head in the game.

So, that just leaves me with the best dreams I know now, as my fifty-year-old self. I think those are summed up easily: finding enough success (both in terms of finances and reputation) as a 'runner to develop a career as a fixer and perhaps eventually achieve some sort of semi-retirement status. Sounds pretty lame to all you kiddos raised on super-amped gray-market California-hot simchips, sure, but can you blame a tired old man for dreaming small (and realistically)?

-Rake


End file.
